Man of Hellsing
by ProteusAlucard
Summary: A Hellsing soldier's last minutes upon the earth. Takes place during the trap at the Bloody Tower. Also my first story on this site, so please R&R!


A/N: I do not own Hellsing, its characters, licenses, or anything of that nature. All rights belong exclusively to Hellsing's creator and distributors, however they want to word it.  
  
"I was once a man", he thought, lazily opening his eyes again, gazing around himself, through to the masses of broken bone and blood and sinew. Death lay all around him, he surmised, and yet he was still conscious, able to watch and listen.  
And still drawing breath, for the moment at least.  
He was a Hellsing Soldier, he knew, something in which he took great pride. He was a man. Strong and willful, he had survived encounters with things he never could have dreamed of as a child. He had sent demons to Hell, just where they belonged, nightmares that could no longer harm anyone.  
The soldier looked around him, down the hallway in which he was about to die. In which he would be reborn, a demon, soulless and impure. A slave of that thing which had killed him. It would not be long before this change occurred, he could feel it inside himself. It was like what he'd always imagined a butterfly must do to emerge from its pupa, rip through a shell it had erected itself, forgetting all that it was to be a caterpillar.  
The soldier sighed. He wished to remain a caterpillar.  
His psychology was giving way to the numbness again. He had to fight it. The longer he stayed conscious, the better chance he had of being put to rest in honor. The longer his eyes stayed open, the better chance his Hellsing brothers would have to not have to deal with him. It was the last thing he could do to repay them.  
He tried to think of what his life had been like before Hellsing had him transferred from the SAS. Boring, he was sure, but lacking the perils that his new life provided. Or had provided anyway. No wife or children, no dog, boring.  
Which is why he had gotten himself in this mess. Well, not to get a dog, he chuckled, thinking it over. He had wanted to serve in the military in order to serve his country. The SAS picked him up, and later, the Hellsing Organization took an interest in him. He was transferred, and his whole life had been turned upside down.  
Not, boring, though.  
It was amazing how quickly he had been baptized into this world of darkness, how fast the Hellsing leadership introduced him to just what evil things crawled through the deserted street corners at night, eager and thirsty for blood.  
He thought back to his training days, when all his instructors could do was shout at him to "shoot the goddamn head or neck!" as they were fond of shouting. It was difficult for him, going from the mindset of "shoot to disable" to "shoot to kill". He despised it at first. It was only natural.  
The soldier winced again, feeling a little more blood flee his body, feeling himself inch forward to meet Death's embrace. He was afraid, as anyone would be. But, stubbornly, he refused to stop thinking.  
He thought about the missions, his first one in particular. He had just been recruited, trained, readied to go. The Police had gotten a call from a man claiming that Vampires were draining people of blood. He had been hysterical, they said. The soldier's unit had been dispatched to deal with the problem. Among them was a beautiful girl, only nineteen, with the oddest red eyes and very voluptuous-  
The soldier chuckled.  
The call had been a ruse, they later found out. A trap. There had been only one Vampire there. The nineteen-year-old had brought her down without much trouble. The unit searched the place thoroughly, no trace of any other NHBs.  
The soldier fumbled in his mind, searching for a name. "Seras." he whispered. Yeah, that was her name. She had some sort of sensory perception that was beyond human; rumor even had it she was a vampire herself, which always struck the soldier as ironic. He always found himself thinking "Hey, if we kill all the Vampires in the world, what happens to the ones we have here in Hellsing? Do we have to kill them too?" He did not want to do that, especially to Seras. She had saved his life.  
There had been explosives in that warehouse, he remembered. Seras had sensed them before they had the chance to go off. She had shouted at everybody to run away, to get out, and he tried. And tripped. Seras protected him, using herself as a shield.  
After that, he did not return to the Hellsing Estate until it was in shambles, the victim of a ghoul attack. Many men had died, but he and his unit, minus Seras, had been spared that fate by a mission that turned out to be utterly worthless. Seras had been in the manor, and survived, he knew. A rare thing in that attack.  
A week later she was transferred out of the unit. He never had gotten the chance to thank her like he wanted to. And he could not find her outside of the Hellsing Manor, where everything was too strict to really socialize. Come to think of it, he never had seen her inside the manor either.  
The pain was beginning to numb, a sure sign that the end was near. The soldier still had to think though. He mused over this mission, his last. It was supposed to be a trap. Well, it turned out to be a trap, but not as originally intended. The freaks, Artificial Vampires, had been the ones designing a trap, not Hellsing. It was somewhat embarrassing to think about.  
They were exceedingly ugly things, aptly named as freaks, it seemed. They looked more like jackals that had learned to stand on their hind legs and dress in full SAS regalia, the soldier mused.  
Out of the shadows, one of the freaks emerged, blood dripping down its jaw. It inched forward towards the soldier. It looked hungry. Starved, maybe. It licked its lips, staring at the soldier with a kind of merciless delight, like having an extra snack before bedtime with nobody watching. It had discovered something still alive and it wanted to have its fill.  
It was still a few meters away. The soldier wished he had a grenade or a gun, but if he had one, he would have used it on himself a while ago.  
The things had ambushed him, killed his unit so quickly he had no time to think. He wanted revenge. He wanted to kill this one with his bare hands, and further stain the bloody Tower of London with its crimson liquids. But, realistically, there was not a thing he could do about what was about to happen, except hope that his blood ran out before the thing started chewing on him.  
The creature was now looming over him, and it made eye contact with the soldier, seeming to communicate a desire to devour him, bit by bit. It would enjoy it immensely. It bent low, eager for that first bite, willing the bloody soldier to come quietly and taste good. Its teeth were nearly on him, nearly ripping through his flesh, when the soldier heard a gunshot.  
A loud one. Near.  
On top of him, the creature collapsed, dead. It dissolved into dust.  
The soldier looked around him, wishing to see who had killed that thing, to catch a glimpse before he died and came back, only to look at him with hunger. His eye caught a glimpse of red, but nothing else.  
Slowly, that red appeared to move, step out of the shadows, step out of the wall. It was a man, a huge man, tall and thin, dressed in a red trench coat that came down to his ankles, boots that came up to his knees, a wide brimmed hat and sunglasses colored orange. He was smiling, his canines elongated enormously. He was a vampire.  
"Lovely night, wouldn't you say?" He asked the soldier.  
"Why did you kill that thing?" the soldier retorted. "Wanting unspoiled meat for yourself, huh?"  
The Vampire laughed coyly. "I've been watching you for a bit now. I'm impressed that you're still clinging to your helpless life."  
The soldier winced. "If I'm still me," he uttered through clenched teeth, "they won't have to deal with me as a ghoul."  
"I know. Which is impressive in itself."  
"Who are you?" the soldier asked impatiently.  
"My name is Alucard. I am a servant of Hellsing." He smiled, amused by the shock on the soldier's face. "And the proverbial 'father' of that same Seras Victoria you so admire."  
"What do you want with me?"  
"Do you want to live, brave knight of Hellsing?"  
"What?" The soldier eyed the vampire suspiciously.  
"Do you want to live past this night?"  
"I don't see how that could happen."  
The vampire bared his fangs. "These are all the surgical tools we need, human."  
The soldier thought for a moment, feeling his blood slowly drain out of him. He looked at the weapon that the vampire had used just a little earlier. His eyes opened wide as a decision came upon him. "Shoot me," he said.  
The vampire smiled widely, nodding at the man before him. "I will do as you wish, but first," he chuckled, raising the weapon and pointing it at the soldier, "tell me your name."  
"My name?" the soldier looked perplexed.  
"For those who come after to remember you by," the vampire said.  
"Mulhill," the soldier sighed. "Charles."  
The vampire widened his smirk. "For the second time on this night I play Hermes, the guide of the dead." He laughed, amused by the situation. "Goodbye, Charles."  
"Goodbye" he seemed to say it more to the world than to the vampire.  
He fired his weapon, and Charles Mulhill, soldier of Hellsing, died in honor. 


End file.
